You Scream, I Scream, We All Scream

In the spirit of Labor Day, a signal of the immanent retirement of summer, my fine family and I played a bit of baseball last Monday. It was a sunny, beautiful day here in our little slice of Massachusetts, and we were all happy to get a little dirty and sweaty -- good clean fun. And how else might someone cap-off such a wholesome frolic? By eating a little ice cream of course! From a little ice cream truck? All the better.

But then I was sobered by the choices before us.

I am unsure when, exactly, cartoon characters -- or more accurately, their approximations -- became in vogue. When I was a child, I remember the Super Rocket Pop as being the height of artistic interpretation in hand-held desserts. But now, much is fair game and the results are not pretty and even less appetizing.

First of all whether it be Dora the Explorer or Bugs Bunny, you can bet the eyes are made of frozen, black bubblegum pieces (as in, "CRACK! Ahh Mommy! Dora's eye broke my tooth!"). Another thing to keep in mind is that the pursuit of "authenticity" includes unfortunate ice cream colors (as in, "Daddy, what flavor is gray?").

To taint the icecream truck experience even further, I slipped deep into Old Crank mode by noting that NOTHING was less than $2. Even my old friend the basic ice cream sandwich had been mysteriously promoted to SUPER Ice cream Sandwich and was now $3.

And so, with the sound of repeating "Turkey In the Straw" -- off-key -- still ringing in our ears, we left behind the Sonic and Scoobey-Doo Pops and went to the corner creamery for homemade ice cream on a cone.

It ain't trying to look like nothing, but the good news there ain't nothing gray neither.